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Life has both a bright side and a dark one. There
are times when we find good reasons to be happy and
delighted. There are also times when we feel gloomy
and unhappy. This too is true when considering the
effects of blue jeans in our lives: they can bring
great happiness and just as easily be a source of
dismay.
A friend of mine had been weeping and wailing for a
couple of days over the untimely death of his elder
brother. Last Saturday morning, I met him in Piazza,
he was clean-shaven and looked years younger. When I
greeted him, I grasped his hands firmly,
surprisingly pleased with the happy mood that he
seemed to be in. He asked me if I would mind joining
him in the hunt for good, blue jeans for his
children.
Blue jeans originated in 1873, proved very popular
in the years after that and are still fashionable
all over the world today. I vividly recall Wrangler
jeans and jackets being sold at Samuel Brothers
Clothing Store (what is now Ras Makonnen Bar in
Piazza) when I was a student in elementary school
some decades ago. You could get the two at a cost of
30 Birr. That’s hard to imagine considering that
amount now cannot even buy a decent meal in a café
or restaurant.
After conducting a brief market survey for the jeans
around the boutiques in Piazza, we decided to drive
to Mercato where there is the never ending hustle
and bustle of glorious shopping. We walked in and
out of many shops along the Kikian stretch, opposite
the former Tana stores. We found some of the
shopkeepers affable as they readily laughed at our
jokes. We had to pretend ignorance at times,
especially when the bargaining got tough. It was
also difficult to find the right size and right
shade and the search was somewhat frustrating. The
type of jeans where the letter “W’ is tailored on
the back pocket in double stitches can longer be
found in the market. Of course, we were not looking
for old marks and numbers like 501, an obvious trade
mark of American wear.
Incidentally, I cannot think of anything as global
as the jeans and T-Shirt style of dressing as seen
on people from all walks of life: the young and old,
the rich and poor. Everywhere in the world, jeans
dominate. One could safely assume that like with the
Coca Cola soft drink brand, the Americans have used
the 1873 design to colonize the world. Wearing blue
jeans is a means of identifying oneself with the
West and by some sort of extension, with democracy.
I remember an incident in 1984 when I bartered a
pair of jeans trousers for a 175 litre refrigerator
that functions perfectly well even up to this very
day! I was a member of a 20-strong squad of planning
experts that was sent for advanced training on
Central Planning at the famous institute known as
GASPLAN. At that time, American designer jeans and
the Winston brand of cigarettes could fetch four
times the normal cost in the black markets of the
then Soviet Union. Consequently, almost every
traveller to the country was advised to fly to
Moscow laden with an abundance of jeans, bubble gums
and Winston cigarettes.
Back to Addis. I looked at the flocking crowd to see
what types of clothes people were wearing. Young
girls and boys in particular were in tight jeans
with sanforized fading or of the shrinking waist
fashion. The texture of the fabric used is dry and
rigid, made to endure all wear and tear. But people
seem to wear them more for the fashion statement
that they made rather than for their durability.
We had a hard time finding the right sizes and
colours of jeans for my friend’s four children. He
had made it a habit to acquire new clothes for all
his kids at the same time. I liked the candid remark
he made that this was his way of teaching his
children about practical democracy, at least in
terms of equality, and fraternity I might add. It
took the good part of an hour for us to leave the
forsaken place. I say that reservedly, for want of a
better term in the light of the fact that we had to
find our way out of a huge crowd. Honestly, I would
not have taken the pains of going through such an
arduous task had it not been for my conscience
telling me that my friend needed someone around to
pull him out of his grief.
The late playwright, Laurate Tsegaye G/Medhin must
have envisaged the voices of hundreds of people
vibrating inside his ears when he wrote the popular
masterpiece, “Ay Merkato!”
“Ager keyegoraw Wetito
Anchin Bilo neklo wetito
Tenterlawzo wato wato
Ay metkato”
This is a scholarly poem that gives a long account
of Merkato as seen from different angles. Merkato is
a source of fortune for many and hell for a few, a
place of happiness for some and one of despair for
others, a provider hope for multitudes and an
instiller of fear in a handful.
I kept thinking of this poem as I watched what was
going on under my nose. The important word here
seemed to be ‘speed’. Vendors lifted up their voices
and yelled: “Hurry up!” Porters tried to weave their
way through the crowds. Little boys sold lottery
tickets bragging: “Today! Today! Today!” as an
indication that the date of the draw was around the
corner.
Only the street beggars did not have any say in
determining the pace of events at this place. I am
serious. Have you ever heard a pauper say, “Please
hurry up and give me some money.” Never. But they
try to illicit speedy responses by telling about how
much they are starving to death. Some beggars in the
Mercato vicinity, however, appeared to be long
suffering judging by their complexion and their
physical endurance. We saw quite a lot of them
inconveniently placed in the middle of the hub of
business.
On our way back, we saw hundreds of boys wearing
jeans, sneakers and T-shirts, looking free and
relaxed even during the prime of work. We wondered
why all the streets of the capital were crowded with
men and women briskly walking along congested
streets during the peak hours of the day? It is a
pity that a country that ought to sprint to catch up
with the rest of the fast growing world is still
largely walking. Perhaps the recent transport price
hike has made people miserable, forcing them to walk
instead of taking a ride on a taxi or public bus.
What then can be said of the thousands of 4-wheeled
drives cruising the streets of Addis, are they
water-fueled? Is that why they are rolling by that
fast?
I am raising these points in passing, as I
anticipate a lot of merry-making during the holiday
weekend that is ahead of us. This may result in a
higher number of traffic accidents and
consequentially, an increase in the death toll.
The Easter Holiday, like the New Year, is an
expensive festive season. Prices of goods and
commodities have soared. But many people prefer to
run their shopping errands on the eve of the
holidays, a habit which is perhaps incited by the
advertising community as it makes its seasonal
attempt to gain from the sprinting bonanza in the
industry. An average family will brew tej( a
local mead made from honey) buy a ram, a few
chickens and quite an amount of meat, not to mention
other supplementary items such as cakes and bottled
drinks.
I tried to hint to my friend about the dangers of
reckless driving as he careened down the road
without referring to the accident that his brother
had. I could see that he was gazing into the
distance, perhaps making a mental calculation of the
amount of money he had spent on buying blue jeans
for his children.
I may be talking for the non-jeans wearing folks
when I say that if freedom can be expressed by the
right to wear simple jeans and T-shirts, like in the
West, our children have definitely had a taste of
it. Many of them, girls in particular, have taken
the laws of decency into their hands and seem intent
on going around half-naked. It will not be too long
before we see girls totally in the nude, if the
current scenario is anything to judge by. May the
good Lord deliver us from such freedom!
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